It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in need of a wife *(Well, it is!). Such was Clive Sayers, the tall Brit with the scraggly good looks, rabbity nose….(never mind…I really despise rabbity noses in otherwise good-looking sleuths) and six digit salary. Six digits a year for writing scathing social commentary and witty cultural ditties. He kept a reluctant blog. His publisher considered it imperative. His books sold well and his blog kept interest up. Clive had become an Internet darling.

In real life his nose was just short of large and square. Try not to imagine him with a rabbity nose; his nose is important. He had a bit of a beard. Sandy blond. Handsome, yes, but you wouldn’t find him on the cover of a romance novel or GQ. His British accent added to his charm as it always does. ( “I see you modeled him after me, Mama.”**)

Being able to set up housekeeping anywhere he pleased, Clive had ended up on an island off the coast of South Carolina, a place where the water is wide and the people sparse. His satellite connection to the Internet and his laptop made it possible to sit on the veranda sipping mint juleps while writing. (Of course, he didn’t sit on the veranda sipping mint juleps; he’s not a girl! Nor is he bumbling. (Hi, Valerie).) He is taciturn, laconic. His pen is a rapier sword. He is at times condescending and sarcastic. He is aloof and popular, a not unlikely combination.

It is all down hill from here folks. What can I say, “He tousled his windswept hair as he stood on the portico watching the nor’easter blowing in off of the Atlantic?” “He sat in his upstairs studio window watching the Atlantic push in an evening storm in tune to his own tenor sax?”

He was spending the day alone at the beach house contemplating his keynote address for the upcoming God is Not Mad at You blog conference. Why, the devil, had his publishers insisted on this silly conference. He would be dogged for 3 days by 40 year old women seeking a picture with him for their blogs. His face would be pasted all over Bound by Glory, Peaceful Pentagons, Buried Talent, Rodent Ranch*** and Dominion Family. Online email groups would meet for the conference sitting in the front rows giggling hysterically during his address. Their voices would be heard on all the cd’s. He was tempted to join Jeeves in a chorus of “No wonder they say, ‘Oh, woman, woman.’”

In spite of his apathy he intended to give his paying audience their money’s worth. It would also give him a chance to gauge reactions to his new novel, The People Perish, an attempt to get his message out in literary forum. The truth was that most bloggers were at least literate and
The late night conversations would provide him with plenty more social commentary, not to mention the plotline for his next novel, Where There is no Vision. Only he didn’t know that yet.

His cell phone rang.

“Hullo.”

“Clive, James here.”

“Ah, yes my faithful slave driving agent. Hoo can I help ya?”

“Alright, alright yoo can stoop making fun of my Scots’ accent, yoo sassenach . Just wanted to get your Ok for a private seminar at the God is Not Mad at You Conference.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, a group of agrarian bloggers is hoping you will consent to speak to them about your unusual education. Not too lucrative but I know you actually enjoy the topic?”

“Yeah, sure, it will get me away from gettin’ my picture taken. Those Luddites probably don’t even know what a camera is.”

“Maybe, Clive, but you’d be surprised at how tech savvy these Internet agrarians are. You know, video chicken coops, whiz bang pluckers an’ a’ that.”

“Sure it’ll be fun. Philosophically I’m there; just don’t make me start a compost heap.”

“Great, I’ll set it up for Friday afternoon. How’s the keynote coming?

“Pretty good which is in fact pretty bad? I am trying to knock around the literary nature of blogging. Perhaps add some inspiration. Move away from the “I had eggs for breakfast” aspect.”

“Yoo’ve been readin’ again, aye? Maybe ya’ read too much.”

“Yoor my book agent, James, right?”

“Well, I suppose ya better be getting back to rumplin’ your hair and playing the saxophone in the moonlight. I gotta make another call. I am trying to get a book deal with an anonymous blogger known as Roger Vinny. That’s not his real name anymore so it’s not easy tracking him down. Not up your alley though. Wish he had been invited to the conference but he likes to keep anonymous.”

“James, James. Be content with wha ya have. You’re going to get yourself into trouble one of these days. I’ll talk to ya later, man

* Credit where credit is due. I’m not that good of a writer.
** Nathaniel
*** You know who you are. Skewered, indeed!